


Porn'shots [SPN]

by thatsakitkat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bottom Dean, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Sex Toys, Threesome, Top Castiel, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsakitkat/pseuds/thatsakitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of my small, porny one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam pops his knot for the first time

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

**_(ABO, Underage)_ **

 

 

 

_The first time’s about surprise_ , Dad’s voice says in Sam’s head, repeating from five dinners ago, where Dad had told him Dean’s heat was coming up and it was time for Sam to start enforcing the hierarchy. Important, since Sam was the younger one; Dean needed to be shown that just because he was older didn’t mean he was the higher-up.  
  
Omegas are meant to be beneath Alphas, and that lesson is taught by their siblings. Way the world works. _You gotta get the jump on him, pin him down. Don’t pause, stop or hesitate, or neither of you will turn out right_.  
  
Sam inhales deep and tucks himself tighter into the corner of the sink counter and wall, linoleum sucking at his feet when he brings them closer together. Even though he can’t hear Dean coming down the hall yet, he peeks his head out of the bathroom doorway anyway and just sees a bunch of carpet.  
  
He’s been waiting half-an-hour and he’s sweating his nerves through his skin, dick half-hard in his—easily removable—sweatpants. Could be from adrenalin, but Sam knows it’s more about anticipation; he _is_ looking forward to getting inside someone for the first time, keeps trying to imagine how that would even feel, what _Dean_ would feel like, under and around him.  
  
"C’mon Dean," Sam whispers, draws back in and goes back to tracing the floral wallpaper with his eyes. The long stems and pink blooming flowers make him think of sex.  
  
He checks his watch and sees it’s five-thirty, always the time Dean ambles out of his room for his early morning whiz.

He’s in heat though, that might change things. Sam remembers reading online somewhere that an Omega’s body hangs onto water when they’re in estrus, makes them look softer and more appealing to their complements.

Sam hasn’t really noticed that. Then again, Dean’s always bundled up in his layers.

Sam doesn’t miss the creak of Dean’s bedroom door opening. He jumps a little at the sound breaking the quiet and his heart bounces into his throat. He manages to hold himself against the wall, tying back every urge to just meet his brother head on. He listens to Dean’s carpet-quiet steps, closer and closer and closer until Dean’s _there_ , hand going for the light switch.

Sam doesn’t pause, stop or hesitate. He catches Dean’s wrist and yanks it over his head and spins him around like they’re twirling in a ballroom.  
Both of them spill into the hallway. Dean goes down with the threat of his arm being pulled from its socket driving his knees into the carpet. Sam goes with him, leans his weight across Dean’s back until his brother’s folded underneath him and furious. “The _fuck_ Sam! Get offa me!” Dean shouts in a voice that’s been sandpapered from sleep.  
  
Dropped down the incline of Dean’s back, Sam peels his lips from his teeth and sinks them into Dean’s nape, jaws fitting around either side of his spine.  
Dean turns to water underneath him. Like a cat, his back curves in and his ass hikes higher under Sam’s hips as he instinctively presents. Sweet, enticing scent rises in the air and grips Sam’s lungs and cock.

"Now?" Dean croaks. "You’re doin’ this _now_?”

Sam hums and laves Dean’s neck, over the little red indents his teeth made, the sweat around Dean’s hairline. He rocks his hips against Dean’s ass, the high soft swell perfect on his sharp hipbones and stiffened cock even though they’re both caught up in their clothes still.

“‘s time to fuck you,” Sam says, blushes hot at his own dirty words. His hips surge into Dean’s ass and rut, clothed dick running up and down where the seam of Dean’s ass is covered in his boxers. “Gonna help me get my knot.”

His words sound like an actor’s, something he probably heard in a porno but they’re keeping him confident when he all he really wants to do is ask Dean what the fuck to do and how the fuck to do it.

Dean shifts under him, grumbling. “Can’t I take a piss first?”

"No," Sam says, and shit his voice cracks. He clears his throat and leans a little off Dean’s back to work a hand between them, finds the waistband of Dean’s boxers and starts tugging. "No you can’t."

"Better hurry it up then. God, man, sneaking up on me? You couldn’t’ve just asked?"

_Alphas don’t ask, son. They take_. Sam doesn’t say anything in reply. He lifts completely off his brother—Dean stays right where he is like a good bitch—to bring Dean’s boxers under his ass and down his thighs until they’re folded up in the backs of his knees.  
  
A new scent suffuses Sam’s senses and makes his head swim, his mouth fill with saliva. He brings his fingers to Dean’s ass and brushes them just inside the cleft until a clear, viscous liquid is stringing from his fingertips. “You’re _wet_ ,” Sam breathes, dizzy.

"I’m in heat, jackass," Dean growls. He huffs and turns his face into the carpet, revealing a red cheek and a screwed shut eye.

Sam scents the slick then just as quick puts his wet fingers in his mouth and sucks it off. It’s slightly metallic, but tastes mostly like heat and Dean and Omega; it’s great. Sam wants more of it, wants to move back and lick a big swathe from Dean’s balls to his tailbone, but stuff like that’s reserved for mates. He’s supposed to mount his Omega sibling over and over until his knot pops and that’s it.

Sam _wants_ to do more though. Lick Dean, finger him, touch his cock. Roll his brother over and kiss him, shove his tongue past pink plump lips and white sharp teeth.  
  
 _I’m fucked up_ , Sam thinks mournfully. Dean’s his brother, not his mate. This is about hierarchy and dominance and Sam can’t be tender.  
  
"The fuck are you waiting for? Get the lead out!"

Sam smacks his ass and hisses, “ _shut up_. You can’t talk to an Alpha like that.”  
  
Sam’s vocal chords are still too immature for Alpha Voice and his tone was way too thin but Dean shuts up just like that. As he’s meant to. As this game they’re learning is supposed to go; Omega brother under Alpha brother with their instincts as teachers.

This is where they start.

Sam rolls his sweatpants past his erect cock and down his thighs, knees closer to Dean and drapes himself over his back once more, puts his teeth to Dean’s neck. Sam’s cock fits between Dean’s legs before he shifts his hips and it slides up to where Dean’s warm and wet.

Dean whimpers and moves; Sam clamps harder and growls. There’s a pulse against the underside of Sam’s cock that he knows is Dean’s hole, needy and ready and clenching around nothing with each slide of Sam’s cock up and down his crack.

Sam hears Dad’s voice in his head telling him to quit monkeying around so he makes sure his teeth’s grip on Dean’s nape is secure and lines himself up.

It’s Dean’s body that does most of the work. Sam starts pushing his cockhead into his hole only to be gripped tight by it and sucked in. Sam’s eyes fling wide on a gasp while Dean groans so low it’s nearly subvocal. Likely the first time he’s had something inside him, and fuck if that doesn’t stir up possessive thoughts—this bitch is _his_.

Sam feeds Dean’s hole the last inches of his cock and when he’s all the way into that wet sleeve of constriction he wants to stay there and just grind in little increments and not fucking leave ever. Not the way this is supposed to go though, so Sam gives himself only a few seconds to marinate before he jerks his hips back, most of his cock out, then slams it back in.

Dean grunts, the fingers by his head twisting in carpet for purchase as he’s forced forwards a little. Sam rings his arms around his waist to keep him still for the next hard thrust, heart pounding in his ears. He has to let Dean’s nape go to gasp and lick his skin, the sweat that tastes similar to his slick. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Dean.”

"Sam," Dean hoarses between the gusting pants leaving his lips.  
  
Sam spreads his knees wider on the floor in a bid for better leverage and gets it, can bury himself that much deeper and snap his hips that much harder. The closer he gets to coming, the more he feels like a match trying to light in the strikes of his hips, building heat under his skin till he’s sweating and huffing wet breaths into Dean’s hair.

"Fuck, _c’mon_ Sammy,” Dean murmurs as he just takes it like a good Omega.

"It’s. Sam." Sam punctuates that with two smacks of his hips into Dean’s ass. He lays his cheek against Dean’s neck and holds him tighter as urgency shortens his thrusts. He jerks off twenty-four seven; he knows what it feels like when he’s gonna come, but this is different. His dick tingles so intensely it’s almost a burn and feels like it gets harder somehow, force and pressure coalescing at the base.

“ _Ah_ ,” he moans through his teeth, squeezing his eyelids so tight coronas of color dance in the black. He’s out of breath and weak to the new pleasure that’s growing where his dick’s stuck in Dean’s body. His fingers curl into claws and drag mindlessly up and down Dean’s stomach as he ruts, driven by something primitive that he can’t escape.

Dean moves under him, shoving his shoulderblades up into Sam’s chest and trying to lift up onto his hands. “Sam—”

Sam growls and bites his neck again. “Stay, God, shit, _stay still_ , need to stay still Dean—”

Dean still struggles weakly. “Sam, fuck, I think your knot’s popping.”  
  
"What?" Impossible; he’s only fourteen, and no Alpha mounts for the first time and pops it. Takes years. Dean twists under him. "Stop moving!" Sam puts all his weight on him, hindbrain telling him Dean’ll hurt himself if—

He loses all his thoughts and words as he’s dragged into an undertow of sensation that climbs from the base of his dick to the tip, then washes through his whole body. He chokes on air and a yell, scrabbles at Dean and churns his hips, feels his cock _grow_ and Dean’s hole stretch around it. Fuck, he’s tying them but he can’t pull out now, can’t stop. His own cock’s a hook and he can only jerk on the end of it helplessly. He shoves his nose in Dean’s sweet-smelling hair and lets himself drown for a few minutes.

When his orgasm has tapered off, Sam hums contentedly and scents Dean, drags his nose through his hair and behind his ear. He tugs his hips back experimentally and yeah, they’re stuck.

Dean hisses so Sam presses apologetic kisses into his skin, beyond thinking of what should stay between mates. He just knows he’s way too young to have his knot, and it’s weird to pop it on the first mounting. He’s unsure how it all adds up, but right now he’s drunk on endorphins and Dean’s scent.

"I can’t believe this," he hears Dean say into the carpet. “‘s not s’posed to work like this Sam. God, I gotta piss so bad, and you _had_ to fuckin’ be a little weirdo and knot up.”

Sam’s back is aching and there’s nerves pinched in his calves, so he rolls them onto their sides carefully. It’s kind of strange being tied, dick tucked inside Dean and locking them together, but it’s also spine-meltingly good and makes goosebumps spring up all over his body. He shoves his nose behind Dean’s ear once more and inhales.

"Quit it Rover," Dean grumps.

"I can’t believe it happened," Sam says and thinks maybe even his voice already sounds different. "The first time…"

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, you’re an extra-special snowflake.”

Sam smiles happily. “Guess I must be. And Dean, you’ll… you’ll be a good Omega for someone someday.”

"Yeah," Dean agrees after a few moments. Sam wraps him tight and tells himself it’s just the sway of Dean’s softer scent that makes him kiss his neck again. "You’ll make some ‘mega lucky in the future."

Dean’s words don’t stir up the pleasure that they should. Sam hums noncommittally, holds Dean tighter and doesn’t want to let him go.

 


	2. ***continuation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

_**(ABO, Underage)** _

 

 

 

It’s fun, for a little while—Sam hiding in corners and catching Dean around the waist, laughing as they go down to the floor. Sam jumping into his bed in the middle of the night and worming himself under the covers, covering Dean in heat and breath and hands.  
  
But it’s not right, Dean knows. Sam’s got his knot, doesn’t need Dean anymore. Needs to find a mate instead of treating Dean like one; touching him and kissing him and covering him in scent that Dean hopes Dad doesn’t pick out as strange, isn’t too deep in his skin that Dad won’t believe his lie that they’ve just been sharing clothes.  
  
Since the first knotting, Dean’s heats are regular now. Dean’s surer in his skin. Obeys easier too, which leaves a sourness in his mouth like a melting warhead but only after the fact, only after he’s said _will do_ , or _I understand_ , or the _here you go_ whenever he gives Sam and Dad their dinners. Natural, mindless submission that one day, his mate will expect from him.  
  
They can’t keep it up. Siblings don’t keep fucking after the first knotting, it just doesn’t happen. Defeats the purpose of everything. With their roles aligned, they’re meant to go off into the world and find mates—Alphas pick and Omegas get picked and they have a house and a baby and they contribute to society, the end.  
  
They’re not meant for _this_ —two of them in Dean’s bed, dark and private and taboo under the covers. Own little space and world where Sam’s whispers are the sky and his fingers on Dean’s body are the stars.  
  
Sam’s inside him, rocking deep and gentle, Dean’s legs cradling, caging his sides and it’s horribleterriblewrong to fuck, to _mate_ like this, face-to-face with nowhere to go. Dean hates this the most. This is how his Alpha is supposed to fuck him one day, not his brother; Dean wants to turn over, hide his face in the sheets and pull all the cracked open pieces of himself back together.  
  
Can’t though. Sam’s heavy, has gotten bigger since he popped it, and it’s not in Dean’s nature anymore to go against what Sam wants, especially during sex, where he’s instinctively relaxed and susceptible to Alpha command—if Sam wanted him to suck his own cock, he’d break his back trying.  
  
Times like this though, Sam’s tender. Sam says, “I love you Dean,” and “mine,” and even in the dark under the covers, Dean whispers, “quiet, Sammy,” like Dad’s at the door. Sometimes he has to cover Sam’s mouth, Sam’s ruined face when he knots up inside Dean. Sam’ll grimace or smile into his palm and lick the mounts of his palm, the gun oil and dirt between them, and he’ll snap his hand over Dean’s mouth when _he_ starts stuttering on breaths and hissing Sam’s name over and over.  
  
"Can’t keep doing this," Dean whispers into their sweaty dark cocoon, the blanket pulled over their bodies creating a womb-like environment where only the dig of Sam’s cock into him feels like gravity.  
  
"Yeah we can," Sam’s young (too damn young, Jesus) voice hushes against his neck. He gives a particularly sharp thrust, unerringly hitting Dean’s spot, which makes Dean’s toes cringe and his hips lift.  
  
Dean shakes his head. “No, no you gotta find someone else to fuck, Sam. You know we can’t be doin’ this. You know I can’t be your Omega. Damn it Sam, you know how _wrong_ this is?”  
  
"I know," Sam whispers, and his lips press down on Dean’s. Dean protests and turns his face away, pointless when all Sam has to do is pinch his chin and bring him back. Sam licks across the seam of his lips then puts space between them to say, "and I don’t care."  
  
"You aren’t s’posed to kiss me," Dean says back, an echo from yesterday, the day before, last week, and the words feel as hollow now as they did before. Sam isn’t supposed to keep fucking him, isn’t supposed to fuck him like this, or kiss him, touch him, or say the things he says.  
  
Sam gets his cock deep and stays there for untold moments. “I’ll kiss you all I want; you’re mine. Don’t care what Dad thinks, what anybody thinks,” he asserts, Alpha adding a sharp current to his voice, little stabs of lightning that get under Dean’s skin and branch and buzz.  
  
Dean can’t say anything after that. Even when Sam holds him and rolls them over and he’s spread in Sam’s lap, blanket sliding over his head and hanging onto his shoulders like a cape, and his hands are planted on Sam’s ribs and Sam rasps, “fuck me,” like those are the words Dean needs to hear from his young lips.  
  
They’re not. Dean sits and stares and Sam’s hands are too heavy and too big on his hips, clawed in tight around the bones.  
  
"C’mon," Sam urges, bringing Dean’s hips back and forth in tiny shakes; can’t lift him up—Dean’s nineteen and bigger than him, still has inches on him, and Dean thinks insanely that he _can’t_ move because Sam will shatter into dust beneath him.  
  
Dean sighs and leans down further, puts his hands near Sam’s shoulders instead and rolls his hips. The blanket glides down his shivering back, falls around their hips on the next undulation and then he’s naked in the dark, head hung between his shoulders as he ebbs and flows over his brother.  
  
"God, Dean," he hears Sam pant, feels his hands run up his hips to his ribs, thumbs pressing over stiffened nipples. "So perfect and tight, love being inside you. Bet no other bitch feels as good as you."  
  
"Won’t— _ah_ —know till you try, Sammy.”  
  
"Don’t wanna try." Sam lifts his hips beneath Dean’s weight, sends his cock so deep Dean swears he can feel it on his tongue. "Want you to be all mine, and I can— _God_ —be your mate.”  
  
Dean shakes those words out of his ears. “Fuck, Sam,” is all he can get out. No no no no. His brother can’t be offering to mate him can he? Where the hell did they go wrong?  
  
"Please," Sam says, voice edge-thin, still too young and dumb to know that Alphas don’t say please.  
  
Dean wants to tell him to shut up but he’s old enough to know Omegas don’t talk that way to Alphas, even when said Alpha is only fifteen and your brother and got his knot way too quick, and that’s why this is happening.  
  
Sam leans up suddenly, and Dean doesn’t realize it in the dark until Sam’s lips are pressing over his Adam’s apple and he’s being pushed backwards, Sam draped over him once more. “Want you to be all mine,” Sam hisses into his neck, lips and teeth at sensitive skin. “You know I’ll be good; how many As pop it the first time huh? That’s gotta mean something.”  
  
It does, it means a lot that Dean’s mulled over ever since it happened. Means that Sam’ll grow quick and take a mate quick, means that they’re _compatible_ , even though Dean’s reflexively shied away from that truth a whole year. It’s not fair; it’s like nature’s set them up for sin.  
  
Sam’s thrusts shorten—Dean can feel the beginning swell of Sam’s knot catch on his rim over and over. He trembles for the anticipated fullness, claws his fingers into the back of Sam’s thick hair as his brother pants and seethes breath through his teeth, gives up thrusting to grind and rut insistently.  
  
Sam’s palms wrap around his wrists and move them up the sheets, over his head, the grip gentle but hot.  
  
It arches Dean’s chest a bit, but instead of Sam’s tongue he gets Sam’s teeth—sinking into the sensitive stretch of muscle from his pectoral to his armpit. Dean bucks, can’t keep his yelp in his lungs as pain jolts through his body, replaced just as quick with pleasure; his nerves set alight, Sam’s quiet growl around his mouthful of flesh quaking Dean’s bones as his knot plumps and locks them tight.  
  
When Dean’s just laying there in the dark with Sam plastered over him, he’s just blinking at nothing, feeling altogether different. Warm, heavy, chest aching not from the bite but from inside, like Sam’s broken open his ribcage and has a hand pressed into his heart.  
  
"Dean," Sam whispers, kisses him, filling his taste and scent with copper.  
  
"Bit me," Dean says against his lips, an accusation and a question all at once.  
  
"Mine now," Sam answers in the same tone.  
  
"…guess so." Sam’s ruined everything; set them up for public ridicule and Dad… Dad’ll probably just kill them both. There’s no hiding mated scent; it’s in Dean’s pores now, his brain, body and bloodstream claimed by Alpha.  
  
It’s not bad now. It will be tomorrow when they have to face Dad, but for right now Dean tightens his legs around Sam and kisses him, kisses his Alpha deep, then cradles his face and slides their cheeks together, his stubble rasping over Sam’s smooth skin as he puts his scent on either side. “Mate,” he acknowledges.  
  
Sam’s chest vibrates against his, gets stronger until Dean can hear it all around him, shaking the molecules in the air.  
  
Outside of the A/O porn Dean’s entertained, he’s never heard an Alpha’s purr. He chuckles and smoothes his thumbs under Sam’s eyes. “You know you’re s’posed to be too young to do that?” _Too young for all this_.  
  
Sam’s noncommittal noise gets lost in the hum. He tucks his face into Dean’s neck. Dean’s eyes droop quick under the soothing sound filling the room, and he tails off into sleep soon enough.  
  
In the morning, there’ll be shouts and scorn and Sam’ll grip Dean’s hand tight under the table and say to their father, “Alphas take, that’s the way the world works.”

 


	3. 2014!Dean fucks past Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

_**(Deancest with Wincest, Dub-Con)** _

 

 

 

"Oh, we always liked this didn’t we," he says, prodding two fingers inside Dean’s hole. Their thick fingers, his own, down to the scars in the webbing and the bitten away nails.  
  
Dean grunts softly, pinned by his other self’s weight, the rasp of stubble on the nape of his neck and the fingers twisting inside him, butterfly to a board. “We were a real slut for this,” other Dean says into his neck. “Got it any way we could, huh? Even those we couldn’t get it from… we wanted it bad.” He chuckles knowingly, and God has his laugh always been that dark? Like a dog’s growl in the pitch black.  
  
He pulls his fingers out and worms them inside again, and Dean rolls his forehead against the dirty floorboards, shame crept in spirals of heat up his neck and face. Exposed, utterly. To the only person who knows him from his shorn soul to the bunch of freckles over his lip.  
  
"Know what I got," other Dean continues, pressing soft lips over Dean’s neck, slip of tongue wet and hot as he rocks his fingers in and out, "one thing you haven’t got yet. Night before Sam gave his yes, I got his cock. Ruined him. Pushed him down and made him fuck me. I knew what he was gonna do the next day. He was already dead to me."  
  
"Why not right?" Dean laughs through his revulsion, and wonders if, knows, that same capacity exists inside him.  
  
His other self laughs too, barks it with a throat that’s tasted more whiskey than Dean’s. “You wanna know what it felt like?” He lifts off Dean, catches his hips and hikes them back. Dean lets him, clenching his teeth when he feels the unmistakable length of dick ride his crack.  
  
"Little brother’s got a big dick," other Dean says. "You’ve only seen it soft. I’ve seen it hard and hungry. It curves a little to the left," his cockhead catches on Dean’s hole, "hits that spot inside us perfect. Filled me up till, well you know that feeling. Like it’s gone straight through your guts and it’s pushing at your tonsils. Big around as a beer can. If I had a dick like that, I would’ve gone for porn."  
  
"Christ," Dean moans, when he feels his cock slide into him, all the way until wiry pubic hair rasps against his skin. Perfect fit. Of course it is.  
  
"Mm," he groans. "Never fucked a guy. We don’t like it that way huh? We wanna be forced down and filled. But you," he slides his hands over Dean’s back, "I’m my only exception. Good to know," he takes himself out then sends himself in with a grunt, "good to know we’re still tight as a foxhole. God, bet I felt so good around Sam’s cock. Shoulda seen him."  
  
Dean wishes he could cover his ears, but he can just stay prone and listen to his own gravelly words.  
  
"Mm, fuck, shoulda seen him. You won’t, so I’ll tell you. Sam," hard thrust in, prompting a yelp out of Dean, "Sammy flipped me over soon as he could. Got me in the same position you are now. Well…"  
  
Dean grunts as his other self tucks himself deep inside then blankets his back. “More like this really. Like a dog fucks. Think he learned that from Madison?”  
  
"Don’t—"  
  
"He grabbed us," he rings his arms around Dean’s waist, wrists crossed in his sternum. Long, rolling thrusts make Dean weak. "Like this. Crushed my ribs. Made me take it. Said dirty things. Called us a slut and. a. fuckin.’ bitch."  
  
Words punctuated with sharp thrusts that have Dean hissing through his teeth.  
  
"Oh, we ate it up. It was great. Sammy takin’ care of us. Sammy’s dick inside us. That’s all we ever really wanted right?"


	4. Sam uses toys on Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

_**(ABO, toys and cervix play)** _

 

 

 

Dean doesn’t like it when they’re fucking. He’ll take Dean on his stomach, hips scooped up in his hands and whenever he hits _that_ area accidentally Dean’ll jerk back his hands to dig into his thigh and hiss, “too deep _stopit_ ,” like Sam’s bumping his cervix on purpose.  
  
It’s why Dean prefers to ride him; angle’s better, Dean controls the depth and where he wants Sam to hit. Sam’s not in control like he admittedly wants to be but he doesn’t have a problem with it because he gets to watch Dean fuck himself on his dick and break himself apart, cherry-red in the face and grunting, gasping, “unh”ing and dripping sweat on Sam that gets lost in his own perspiration.  
  
Sam’s fingers are long enough to touch it. One time when Sam had just been dancing his fingers inside Dean and looking for his sweet spot, his middle finger had pushed up against it and Dean gasped, wound back his foot and kicked Sam right over his heart. The outline of Dean’s heel had bruised Sam’s pectoral purple and yellow and sore with the thud of his pulse.  
  
When him and Dean get a little adventurous—well, Sam gets adventurous, he’s pretty sure Dean is just going along with it—Sam accrues a bunch of toys from sex shop-to-sex shop as they drive state-to-state. By the time there’s a lull in hunts, Sam’s got at least one of everything. Knotted dildos, regular dildos, buttplugs, fleshlights, nipple clamps, cock rings, vibrating cock rings, and of course vibra _tors_ in blue, white, red and no that’s not pink, Dean, I promise.  
  
Sam just planned to use the knotted dildo tonight on Dean. Start off slow and familiar. But after Dean’s come on the toy and he’s laying there in Omega happy place at the feeling of a knot, even fake, caught in him, Dean asks Sam, “you got one of them wands?”  
  
"Wands?" Sam repeats, rubbing Dean’s naked splayed thigh with one hand while the other plays idly with his own cock. His eyes are on where Dean’s reddened hole is ringed tight around the swell of the fake knot, taint glossy with slick.  
  
"Them massager things. See ‘em all the time in porn flicks." Dean licks his lips and chuckles sleepily. "Good vibrations."  
  
Sam’s gonna have to look into those wands. For now, he says, “you wanna try a vibrator tomorrow?”  
  
Dean opens his eyes partway and looks at him, grinning. “How ‘bout tonight?”  
  
Sam nods and scoots back on the bed until he can lean over and rummage around in his duffel, rolling his eyes at Dean’s appreciative whistle. He finds the red vibrator first, the longest and strongest. He comes back to Dean with a smirk and gives him the toy to examine while Sam works at getting the knot out of him.  
  
Knots on toys are smaller so they can still be removed, but Dean’s body is fooled into thinking it’s real and his hole doesn’t give it up easy. Sam works up a sweat trying to tug the thing out of Dean without taking his guts with it.  
  
"We’ll just use the inflating one next time," Sam mutters when the baby-blue knot finally pops out. The rest of the toy slides out easy. Dean’s hole gapes for only a few seconds before it puckers up again; advantage of being an Omega—always tight, always feels like the first time whenever Sam pushes inside him.  
  
Sam looks up when he realizes the vibrator’s purring and sees Dean rubbing it over a nipple. Sam laughs softly and brings himself closer, puts a shadow over his brother when he braces himself over him. Sam takes the toy from Dean and brings the tip of the vibrator over the tip of Dean’s nipple and rubs it around in little circles.  
  
Dean’s plump mouth drops open. He raises his chest into the stimulation and Sam can’t resist dropping down on his elbows so he can catch the other nipple in his mouth. He licks the little bud and rolls it, presses at it softly with his teeth (Dean’s sensitive here, doesn’t appreciate outright biting) and keeps the vibrator swirling around the other one.  
  
"Mmm," Dean hums, slides both his hands up Sam’s nape and into his hair which always makes Sam get warm all over. Sam licks over to Dean’s tattoo and traces the ink, moves the vibrator down Dean’s ribs to his belly, along his ticklish side just so he can hear Dean’s stuttered laughter and feel him wriggle.  
  
He’s worked his way up to Dean’s mouth by the time the vibrator’s between Dean’s legs. Sam kisses him like ocean kisses sand; soft pulls of his mouth, lapping at Dean’s lips until he’s inside then retreating. He holds the vibrator along Dean’s cock until Dean’s mouth is shaping words against his and his upper lip is tangy with sweat.  
  
Sam gives him another deep kiss before he lifts up again and settles on his haunches between Dean’s legs. He drags the vibrator down Dean’s cock (it looks the same length and that’s kind of funny) down the seam of Dean’s balls and just under, just a tease.  
  
"Yeah," Dean rasps, hands bunching the sheets as he lifts his hips. "Sammy—"  
  
"Yeah," Sam says, catches a leg behind the knee and pushes it out and towards Dean until his brother’s wide and revealed. Dean’s hole has gone back to pink now, same shade as his nipples and lips. There’s slick seeping out that Sam thumbs at, cleans the digit with his tongue. Dean gets that expression on his face like he doesn’t know whether to get turned on or get grossed out but he thumps his head back into the pillow when Sam nudges the head of the vibrator just past the ring of muscle.  
  
"Good?" Sam asks, letting more of the toy get sucked inside. He barely has to press because Dean’s hole swallows it right up.  
  
"Mm-hmm," Dean hums past his primmed up lips, turns his head, _bares his neck_ and Sam stares at those inches of skin and soothes his tongue over his teeth to resist the urge to lean down and bite Dean, cover that rare submissive gesture up from the ceiling and walls and whatever else might be watching that isn’t Sam.  
  
When all but the last inch containing the settings is inside Dean, Sam watches Dean shake with the fluctuations for a good few minutes—body tensed, tendons pushed up in his neck and hands. “‘s just like,” Dean starts, then licks his lips, “just like Magic Fingers.” He laughs while Sam snorts and shakes his head.  
  
Sam’s fingertip touches over the little dial on the vibrator and he absently asks, “d’you turn it up all the way?” before he presses the switch over.  
  
The hum gets louder and stronger, travels up Sam’s arm into his teeth until they’re buzzing.  
  
” _Jesus_ —shit,” Dean chokes, nearly twists over on himself. Sam pulls the toy out partway to lessen the intensity, and when Dean’s not clenching his teeth anymore Sam presses it back in, gets a rhythm going. In, out, in, out, until Dean’s got his eyes shut and his mouth open and a hand working at his dick.  
  
On the next thrust Sam angles the vibrator up a little, looking for Dean’s sweet spot. He knows he’s hit the wrong area when Dean flinches and a snarl breaks through his litany of Sam, fuck, Sam.  
  
Sam flinches himself and in his haste to reorient the vibrator all he does is jolt it down then up again. But Dean’s hips flatten then, snap down like he likes it and—  
  
"Christ," Dean hisses, trembling all over. His leg slips out of Sam’s grip and his foot plants on the bed and he just breathes.  
  
"I’m sorry," Sam hushes, tugging on the toy. "Wasn’t—"  
  
Dean shakes his head. “No. Like, like it. Feels good. Long as you’re not banging it.”  
  
"It does?" Sam slowly turns the toy upwards again, waiting for Dean to start yelling and kicking. Instead, Dean’s back arches in a harsh bend and he starts panting.  
  
Sam holds the toy there, nestled right against Dean’s cervix and watches his brother start to break apart at the sensation—shaking and scrabbling at the sheets with his hands, sliding his heels on the bed, drawn up tight and leaking pre-come and slick which gets all over Sam’s hand like a glossy glove.  
  
Dean husks, “ah, ah, Sam,” desperate and fast, over and over which makes Sam’s cock drool between his legs. Sam grabs it with his free hand and strokes, slippery fingers of his other around the toy that’s buzzing away inside Dean.  
  
Unable to resist, he gets the best grip possible on the toy and moves it in little circles. Dean jerks, lets out a high cry, hand faltering on his cock. Sam keeps moving the vibrator, eyes catching on Dean’s cock, his puckered nipples, his face. Dean has his eyes half-open, twin glimmers between his lids and lashes. He makes a rough sound when Sam makes another pass over his cervix, and fuck, _tears_ overflow onto his flushed skin.  
  
Sam blinks, stupidly tries to shape his mouth around _are you okay_? because Dean’s cervix is so sensitive and it might be verging into pain now. But Dean’s still panting, still rocking his hips and pulling his cock.  
  
"Fucking— _Sam_ ,” Dean sobs, buzzing as hard as the vibrator, like he’s trying to shudder out of his skin. “Gonna, gonna, please—”  
  
"Jesus Dean," Sam whispers, watching wide-eyed as Dean jolts with his orgasm, erratic breaths and more tears from his eyes as his dick spits up his stomach several times. Sam keeps the vibrator tucked inside him, swirling it as much as Dean’s clenching hole will let him. He nudges Dean’s cervix, coaxes that last blurt of come and a gasp from Dean.  
  
When Dean’s back has dropped back down to the bed and he’s trying to catch his breath, Sam eases the vibrator out and flicks it off, drops down over his brother and licks inside his mouth.  
  
Dean sighs, slurs, “come on,” around Sam’s tongue and hikes his legs up around Sam’s ribs. Tilts his ass up just right for Sam’s cock and Sam’s in, dick surrounded by wet sucking warmth. He’s gone in only four thrusts, his knot plumping up and tying them while Dean murmurs encouragement into his hair.  
  
"Try out the nipple clamps tomorrow," Sam says sleepily, after he’s turned them onto their sides. "Bet we can get you cryin’ again."  
  
"Shut up," Dean mutters back, while Sam grins into his hair.


	5. wincestiel d/s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

_**(Wincestiel, DP, D/s, dirty talk)** _

 

 

 

"From your previous encounters with Sam and myself, I believe the most apt term for you would be," Castiel pauses then, watching Dean’s eyebrows climb up his forehead in expectation. "A sub," he finishes.  
  
Dean pinches his lips and looks up at the bunker’s high ceiling. Beside him, Sam is looking wide-eyed behind the shield of his hand, no longer even pretending to be engrossed in the texts laid out on the table.  
  
Castiel looks between them and slivers of doubt creep in. “I apologize if that is the wrong term, human sexual lingo is… extensive.”  
  
"If I’m a sub," Dean says, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Then you and Sam are, what? My doms?"  
  
Sam clears his throat and sniffs and clears his throat again. “I think that’s what he means, Dean.”  
  
"Huh."  
  
"I didn’t mean to offend you Dean," Castiel assures. "I’ve simply observed your sexual behavior patterns and have compared them to Sam’s and myself. They differ a good deal. You prefer to do what we request, and you are the one who… takes the female role in sexual intercourse."  
  
Sam’s chair scrapes back from the table. “Who wants a beer?”  
  
"I’m good," Kevin’s voice filters down from upstairs.  
  
"Yeah, Jack," Dean says, "don’t bother with a glass."  
  
"I will have what you’re having," Castiel says to Sam, who’s still wide-eyed but gives him a flick of a smile before he heads into the kitchen.  
  
Castiel looks at Dean and sighs. “That came out wrong.”  
  
Dean grunts. “Yeah, really wrong.”  
  
"I’m sorry."  
  
"It’s all right man, just. This," Dean gestures wide, "don’t feel like we need to start putting labels on everything. We’re not a skin flick."  
  
"I understand. We are much more than that."  
  
"Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental on me," Dean grouses, but his eyes are soft.

 

  
***

  
Later, when Castiel is watching Dean on his knees gulping down his brother’s cock, he pets Dean’s gingery shoulder with one hand and runs the other through his hair and says, “you do enjoy this, right Dean?”  
  
"Busy," Dean mumbles, head of Sam’s cock just inside his mouth. Sam’s panting and his hand falls on top of Dean’s head, over Castiel’s, darker and bigger and clawed in pleasure.  
  
Dean cradles Sam’s hips in his hands and takes him to the base with a wet choke, stays there a few moments before pulling back. “Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it,” he rasps, which is as much an answer as anything, Castiel supposes.  
  
Dean fills his mouth once more, hums with Sam’s cock stuck in his throat. Something Castiel knows feels fantastic and his own cock drips from sense memory.  
  
"Fuck," Sam gasps, hiking his hips back then jerking them forward. "Fuck Dean, you’re so good."  
  
Castiel does not miss the extra splashes of red on Dean’s hollowed cheeks, the way his eyes shut and his thumbs caress the cut lines in Sam’s hips.  
  
Castiel knows Dean likes being praised like that, has felt Dean’s body melt under him after a few soft and reverent utterances. When Sam fucks Dean, he’s more lewd and vocal and hiss spits the words like insults, snarls _takin’ it so good Dean_ and _so tight_ , blasphemes _GodJesusChrist fuck_ , and it’s the same effect: Dean reddening and dazed and his moans climbing higher in pitch.  
  
Castiel drops down behind Dean, grabs the bone and flesh of his hips and hauls them back. Words still open his throat, the _are you sure Dean_? and the _would you like me inside you_? that Dean’s told him to refrain from, to stop with the questions and just do it.  
  
Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s thighs like he needs something to hang onto, arches his back in. Castiel looks up Dean’s body, to Sam’s hand guiding Dean’s head, short blond hair sprouting between his knuckles like wheat, to meet Sam’s eyes, so feverish in the low light they’re nearly silver.  
  
Sam’s really doing nothing but looking at him, but this, this always feels like permission. Castiel can’t shake the feeling, can’t shake the thought that if there is some kind of hierarchy here he can apply, the top spot is not shared.  
  
It does not bother him, however. It’s comforting to know his place. And there’s enough of Dean to go around. Too much of Dean, Castiel thinks, too much for both of them, a hundred of them.  
  
Dean’s already been slicked up from earlier, so it’s just a matter of Castiel pressing in close and lining up, sinking in. He trembles at the sensation of Dean around his cock, scorching constriction right up the root. It’s almost painful; Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and braces against it.  
  
He hears the slurp of Sam’s cock leaving Dean’s mouth, hears him say, “fuck, Cas,” guttural and warbling because Sam’s dick always ruins his voice as surely as Castiel’s in his ass does.  
  
"Dean," Castiel returns mindlessly, running his hands from Dean’s hips up his flanks, pinky fingers catching on hard nipples. " _Fuck_.” The human curse stumbles out of his lips, but it’s strangely satisfying to say. He understands why it’s popular.  
  
He rocks his hips back, his cock out a good way, sends it back inside Dean so he makes a harsh sound around Sam’s cock.  
  
Castiel doesn’t go gentle, Dean doesn’t like that—his thrusts are slow but powerful. When Dean shifts Castiel opens his eyes, sees that Sam is on the floor now, drilling his cock into Dean’s mouth. Like this, Dean is folded up, knees tucked under him. Castiel draws himself up and splays his hands on either side of Dean’s spine, hips and ass meeting with a thick smack on the next lunge in.  
  
He watches Sam’s cock pop from Dean’s lips, watches Dean bury his face in Sam’s hip, hears his grunts and gasps, the moans when Castiel gets the angle perfect.  
  
Sam runs his hands through Dean’s hair, says through his lack of breath, “you full enough baby? You want more?”  
  
“‘s good,” Castiel hears Dean choke out. Castiel keeps up his hard thrusts and meets Sam’s eyes.  
  
"Think you want more," Sam continues, talking to Dean but looking at Castiel. "Think you can take a little more."  
  
Dean’s breath catches. Castiel blinks sweat from his eyelashes and looks between Sam’s eyes, and understanding makes his heart thump in his ears. “I do not think he will fit both of us,” he rasps, but Lord, does he want.  
  
Dean shakes his head furiously. “I can,” he hoarses past his fucked out throat, “I can do it. Wanna.”  
  
Castiel strokes Dean’s flanks and Sam gives him a tiny nod. Castiel pulls Dean up, putting his chest to his back and teeths up the side of Dean’s neck.  
  
Sam gets to his feet and finds the lubricant laying on the bed, motions at Castiel with a swirl of his fingers.  
  
Castiel reluctantly pulls out of the clutch of Dean’s body, gets them both to their feet. “Cas?” Dean questions, when Castiel draws them over to the bed.  
  
Sam, with the hand that’s not tipping lube over his cock, takes ahold of Dean’s chin. “You want both of us inside you? Me, Cas, fucking you till you can’t speak?”  
  
Dean leans into Sam’s touch, says, “yeah Sammy, yes. Don’t know if it’ll work but…”  
  
"If it calms you Dean, I’ve seen a few pornographic videos detailing the practice," Castiel says, and gets the attention of them both. "I think it is, perhaps, that the first… penetrative partner lays down, and then the, the non-penetrative—"  
  
"The one gettin’ his ass fucked," Dean supplies, "me."  
  
"Yes. Then you would straddle me, in a position I believe is called the cowgirl—"  
  
"I get it," Dean cuts in, over the sound of Sam snorting in laughter. Dean turns around and plants his hands into Castiel’s chest, sends him falling onto the bed. "Let’s put it into practice."  
  
Castiel sinks into the odd “memory foam” of Dean’s bed, makes an aborted move when Dean just tosses himself onto him. Castiel hazards, “I think we should go—”  
  
His _slow_ wheezes out of him when Dean drops onto his cock in one fell swoop. Dean tosses his head back with an exultant breath, reminds Castiel of someone in religious ecstasy.  
  
Dean tilts forward, hands spreading like honey over Castiel’s pectorals, sinks through his skin and douses warmth over his ribs.  
  
"What’s next?" Dean asks when he hangs his head forward, looks down at Castiel with grass spun eyes, sweat sliding around his eyebrow.  
  
"Then Sam has you from behind. Does the work."  
  
Sam slides onto the bed himself, seems to loom over them both when he’s behind Dean. Castiel lays his hands on Dean’s knees like he can keep them pinned, and not for the first time wonders what it’d be like to tie ropes around Dean’s wrists, or hold him neat and still with his Grace. He wonders if Dean would enjoy that.  
  
"Down a little more," Sam urges, and Dean lengthens across Castiel like a sunbeam creeping across the floor, clamps around his cock.  
  
"Fuck, Dean," Sam mutters. "Cas’ got you so stuffed already."  
  
"Want more," Dean says, "want you too. Fuck, Sam, please. Wanna be stretched open." Dean’s words and tone seem to ignite a fire in them both, because Castiel feels the head of Sam’s cock brushing over the spare inch or two of his own not tucked inside Dean, then up and up until Sam starts trying to nose his cock through.  
  
"Relax," Castiel murmurs when Dean tenses and something like a whimper burbles from his lips. "He won’t be able to get inside you if you aren’t relaxed."  
  
"Keep," Sam grunts, teeth baring as he tries to push his cock past the stretched ring, "keep talking Dean. Tell us how much you need it. How you’re gonna be so good and take both our cocks up your ass. How you’re gonna be such a good, such a good—"  
  
"Slut," Dean finishes, which stills Sam a moment and makes Castiel furrow his brows.  
  
Castiel looks up at Dean, meets eyes that seem to toss a whole conversation at him. “I’m gonna be a good slut,” Dean says slowly, prompting with a raise of his eyebrows.  
  
Castiel nods, catching on, though he’s a little thrown. “Yes. The perfect slut for myself and Sam.”  
  
Dean relaxes. “Yeah,” Dean breathes, closing his eyes. When Sam starts pressing in alongside Castiel’s cock once more, Dean’s plump mouth drops open. He says, “can take it. You know I can.”  
  
"Yeah," Sam agrees. Castiel watches his hands clench tight under Dean’s ribs, the brothers’ weight sinking Castiel into the foam but it’s perfect; Dean between them, getting both their cocks and flushed and dripping his sweat onto Castiel’s skin. Perfect.  
  
"You’re, you’re made for this," Sam continues, words jumping over each other. Castiel thinks, like himself, Sam feels that they’re venturing into different territory, territory that Dean’s already claimed and has just been waiting for them to show up.  
  
"Made for us," Castiel adds, as Sam’s cock inches in against his, creating so much pressure it’s a testament to how extraordinary Dean is that he doesn’t rip and fly apart from it all.  
  
But no, Dean takes it. Like a good slut. Like he’s made for it, for them.  
  
Dean’s trembling when Sam’s lodged inside, cock tucked in beside Castiel’s and stretching Dean wide wide wide. Castiel runs his fingers through the short bristles of Dean’s hair, then cups his cheek, edges his thumb along Dean’s nose to his hush-pink mouth. “Good, Dean,” he says softly. “You did it.”  
  
"Tight," Sam wheezes from over Dean’s shoulder. "God, _fuck_. Fuckin’ amazin’ Dean. How’s it feel?”  
  
"Like I’m a Thanksgiving turkey, Sam," Dean huffs. "Real peachy."  
  
Castiel drags his thumb over Dean’s stubbled chin. “You will get used to it.”  
  
"Think it might be better once you get movin’."  
  
"Go slow Sam," Castiel tells him. "What I observed from the videos, it’s only the second penetrative partner that moves."  
  
Sam nods, and draws his hips back, cock sliding along Castiel’s in a way that, mixed with Dean’s constriction, is overwhelming. Castiel holds Dean’s knees again and all three of them shake with sensation. Castiel keeps his eyes open to take in Dean, whose face is nothing but the twin fans of his eyelashes and the black gape of his mouth. When Sam’s a good way out and pushes his hips forwards again, Dean stutters on a breath.  
  
Castiel reaches a hand up for Dean’s cock, strokes the stiff drooling organ. Dean can come without it touched, but Castiel enjoys the moans he can push from Dean’s throat when he pays it attention.  
  
"Cuh—Cas," Dean hisses, then, "fuck, Sam," when Sam’s got a rhythm going, churning his hips, his cock, around inside Dean and alternating that with dragging thrusts. Dean clenches around them convulsively with each move, like his body’s trying to milk their come right out of them.  
  
Castiel mindlessly touches Dean’s face again, rubs over his arresting lips until Dean wraps them around Castiel’s fingers. Castiel moans and burrows his fingers in deep, entranced by the way Dean’s lips stretch around the digits, how he sucks the salt from Castiel’s skin.  
  
Castiel tugs Dean’s cock more firmly, his eyes flared wide so he doesn’t miss a blink’s worth of what’s happening.  
  
Dean tightens further around their cocks, and Sam works harder at him, face stuck in the crux of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Gonna come Dean?” he pants. “Huh? Gonna come like a good little slut? Both of us in you… got you all worked up, doesn’t it?”  
  
Dean groans around Castiel’s fingers. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears clumping his eyelashes together. Spit escapes the seal of his mouth to drip down his chin. He hunches his hips in, instinctively rocking into Castiel’s hand, then back into the cocks holding him wide.  
  
"Beautiful," Castiel praises, "so hungry for us."  
  
Dean nods, suckling Castiel’s fingers hard like his ass sucks at their cocks. Castiel only takes the digits out of that warm cavern because he wants to hear Dean, who has a litany of words spilling out, “Cas, Sam, Jesus Christ, ‘m so full, I can’t, I can’t—”  
  
"Can," Sam snarls, "you can you _bitch_ ,” and buries his cock deep, nestled tightly against Castiel’s and Dean sobs, fucking forward and back and drawing up tight as a drum around them as his dick spits all over Castiel’s hand.  
  
Sam lunges out then rocks back in, drapes his weight over Dean’s back until his brother’s folded between them, wet and warm and unbearably tight.  
  
Castiel grunts and goes over the edge, empties himself inside Dean in pulses that feel so good they almost hurt. Sam comes too, with a jerk and a cut-off shout of, “Dean!”  
  
When their sweat is drying and their spit-shined lips are tacky, Sam pulls his softened cock out of Dean, and Castiel lifts Dean off him, lets him tip onto his side.  
  
Dean’s asleep as he’s wont to be after sex, just passed out and limp. Castiel molds himself against Dean’s back and Sam gets his front and both stroke Dean’s hair and kiss his skin until the heat of his body tugs them both into sleep.

 


	6. Sam helps Dean through his heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [follow me on tumblr](http://thatsakitkat.tumblr.com/)

**_(ABO, Underage)_ **

 

 

 

 

It’s nothing, to pick the lock to Dean’s room—Dad’s relied mostly on his belief that his oldest would never try to escape, and his hope that his youngest wouldn’t try to interfere. It only takes a pin and a twist of Sam’s wrist to get Dean’s door open, to get inside where Dean’s desperate but quiet, because he’s gone through this for years, heat after heat ravaging his body with no relief.  
  
Sam’s had enough. Had enough of Dad’s old fashioned bullshit, that Omegas should be locked away, should save themselves for their future mates. Dichotomy leaves a bad taste in Sam’s mouth when he thinks about the ruts he’s spent with his knot cradled in Dean’s palm or lips, times Dean’s wiped at his sweaty brow and said, “‘s okay Sammy, here,” and dropped a fleshlight over his cock.  
  
Dean’s room is dim and grey. The cloudy morning brings shafts of white light from the windows, pressing past the curtains and spreading over the floor, a healthy swell over the foot of Dean’s bed.  
  
Sam’s heart wobbles when he sees Dean, sees his brother twisting around in the grips of his sheets, wet spot under him from sweat and slick. Frowning, hating Dad more than ever, Sam closes the door with a soft snick and starts walking over to Dean.  
  
Dean’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a rush of breath. His eyes open and lock onto Sam. He groans, then futilely tries to worm backwards, his head digging into the headboard. “No no no, can’t be in here Sammy,” he rasps, “get out. Leave me alone.”  
  
"It’s okay Dean," Sam soothes, paused by the side of Dean’s bed. He reaches for the tangle of covers around Dean’s sweat slick body but Dean twists away from him with a sob.  
  
"Get outta here," Dean creaks, "please. Don’t want you seein’ me like this."  
  
"I’m gonna help you," Sam tells him, and sits down in an empty space beside Dean. Dean’s heatscent is thick and calling, but the scent of an Omega in distress is what makes Sam urgent. He reaches for Dean and rolls him onto his back once more. Dean raises his fist which makes Sam start, but Dean only bats weakly at Sam’s arm.  
  
Sam relaxes and tells himself to stop being stupid; an Omega in heat’s not gonna hurt anybody. They’re instinctively docile to Alphas.  
  
Sam shifts around on the bed until he’s on his haunches between Dean’s wide, bent legs. He gets his fingers under the sheet wrapped around Dean’s hips and starts tugging it out from under him.  
  
Dean shakes his head. “No. Don’ look at me,” he slurs, his feet dragging on the bed. “Sam, no. Please get outta here. I’ll be all right.”  
  
"Dean, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let you go through this by yourself, all right? Can’t stand it. How unfair it is. Can’t stand knowing you’re in pain. It’s not in me to just let you go through hell in here."  
  
Dean tosses his head. “You’ll help me by leavin’ me alone. God, _please_ , Sam. Not supposed to see this. You know Dad—”  
  
"Dad’s not here. And I wouldn’t care if he was. I get help with my rut, you can get help with your heat."  
  
"Nuh—no, I can, I can do this on my own. Don’t need help. Don’t—"  
  
Sam abandons the sheet a moment to stroke Dean’s flanks, seeping skin wetting his palms. “Do everything for me,” Sam says softly, insistently, “let me do this for you. Let me Dean.”  
  
Dean quiets, shakes his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hands are bunched up on his chest, churning nervously at his own flesh. Sam slowly pulls the sheet away, keeping his eyes on Dean’s flushed face as he lets the sheet drop off the side of the bed.  
  
Naked, Dean’s scent wraps around his lungs and threatens to block up his throat; heady, edged with a sweetness that makes saliva fill Sam’s mouth.  
  
Dean shakes his head and tries to draw his legs together, his hands darting down to cover himself. Sam catches his wrists and says, “Dean, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”  
  
"Please just go," Dean pleads, soft tone tearing at Sam’s heart. Dean’s so vulnerable like this, like he never is all other weeks of the month, the distress in his scent gripping Sam, urging him to fixfixfix.  
  
"I can’t," Sam says, and that’s the truth. He tightens his fingers around Dean’s wrists and pulls his hands away from his crotch. Sam drops his eyes down from Dean’s face, to his blood bright nipples, then finally to his cock.  
  
Sam inhales sharply looking at it; it’s nearly purple with denied release, the head bubbling with so much precome there’s a little lake of it in Dean’s navel.  
  
"Don’t," Dean gasps when Sam goes to touch it, twisting his hips. "Hurts."  
  
"I bet," Sam murmurs. He stills Dean’s hips and thumbs over his hipbones. "What do you need?"  
  
” _Go_ ,” Dean groans from the bottom of his lungs, while Sam looks around the room, stretches over Dean to look inside the drawers.  
  
"D’you have a toy?" Sam asks him, rifling through papers and pens and half-gone boxes of gum. "A knot?"  
  
"No."  
  
Sam settles back, rage boiling under his skin. He wipes at Dean’s sweaty, teary face. “Dad doesn’t even give you anything?”  
  
Dean shakes his head. “S’posed to be pure.”  
  
Sam shuts his eyes a moment, grinding his teeth. That fucking cruel _bastard_. “That’s a bunch of bullshit,” he hisses, turning Dean’s face towards him. Dean opens his eyes a little, red branches encroaching on green pools. “That’s bullshit, Dean, okay? That, that _purity_ crap. It’s not real.”  
  
Sam glides his hands down Dean’s body, dragging his thumbs over Dean’s puckered nipples, fascinated by the way they draw in even more at the attention and how Dean’s watery breath hitches. “You think, you think when you get smellin’ like you do, you think an Alpha’s gonna care?” Sam asks, breathy. “You think he’s gonna be able to care about anything besides knotting you up?”  
  
Dean gasps, and Sam can tell it’s from the words. He moves his palms lower, over the crest of Dean’s ribs, spreading his darker hands over Dean’s pale belly. “Tyin’ you, gettin’ stuck with you, putting babies in you.”  
  
Dean seems to break a little under Sam’s hands. “God,” he chokes, fingers clawing into the sheets.  
  
Sam smiles a little at the obvious effect his words have on Dean. “Your Alpha won’t care, I promise,” Sam says, clasping his hands around Dean’s soft inner thighs and spreading them, swallowing spit as Dean’s scent strengthens. It makes him burn on the inside, like the fires of rut are swamping him for a second time this month.  
  
"Don’t," Dean protests, drawing back a leg to plant his foot in Sam’s chest.  
  
"Let me help you—"  
  
"Stop it, please Sammy, please _just go_ —”  
  
Sam shakes his head, pushes Dean’s foot away and leans over his brother, balances himself on his left forearm beside Dean’s head. Dean’s nostrils flare on a deep breath, taking in the close scent of Alpha. Unable to help himself, Sam drops a bit more until his neck is near Dean’s nose and the Omega holds his head and shoves his nose under Sam’s ear, takes in lungfuls of Alphascent that Sam hopes convinces him.  
  
Dean rumbles in pleasure, tiger deep.  
  
"See?" Sam asks, Alpha voice pulling at his vocal chords, but it puts the insistence he wants behind the words. "See, let your Alpha brother help you. You don’t have to go through this alone."  
  
Sam worms his right hand between them, down between Dean’s legs, sweltering heat dampening his hand just as much as Dean’s slick does when he presses a few fingers beneath Dean’s balls.  
  
Dean jumps, pulling his nose out of Sam’s neck with an unhappy sound.  
  
"Shh," Sam hushes, looking down at his brother intently as his fingertips slide through the slick leaking from Dean; so much of it, all over the bed, thicker than anything from the girls Sam’s touched.  
  
He finds Dean’s hole, a small dime of roughness in the slip and slide. Dean’s pillowy pink lips part as he frowns, a negative hum starting in his throat.  
  
"It’s okay Dean," Sam soothes. "This is what you need right? Something inside you. You’ve never done that huh? Never even tried some fingers."  
  
"S’mmy," Dean groans, flush climbing up to his forehead and ears.  
  
If anything, seeing Dean redden just makes Sam want to keep talking. He rubs his fingers around Dean’s hole, touching over it every few seconds until the amount of slick has his fingers all weak and pruny.  
  
"So wet, Dean," Sam husks, remembering how during Sam’s ruts Dean’s wrapped both hands around his knot and has said _so big_ and _damn you’re huge_ , an absurd proud expression on his face and that had made Sam lose it even more.  
  
Sam shifts, curls his arm under Dean’s back and lays his head on his chest, watching sweat skirt around a nipple as he lets his fingers prod Dean’s hole, until it gives under the pressure and sucks his digits in to the second knuckle.  
  
” _Ah_ ,” Dean gasps, bending his knees and scrabbling at the bed with his feet. Dean’s hot inside, scorching and buttery with slick. Sam swallows and closes his eyes, moves his fingers in deeper.  
  
Dean flattens his hips, moans, “oh,” in a way that makes Sam’s groin tight and heavy like he’s got a hot brick in his jeans.  
  
He gets to the last knuckles, but his wrist starts cramping from the awkward angle. He reluctantly sits up again, has to pull his fingers from Dean to work his shirt over his head—he’s sweating bad, beads creeping up on the nape of his neck and racing down his back.  
  
"What’re doin’," Dean fumbles out, watching Sam throw his shirt in the corner with a certain wariness in his eyes.  
  
Sam smiles easily. “Hot in here.” He holds Dean’s thighs and pulls him down the bed a bit, then takes a leg by the knee and pushes it towards Dean, pulls it wide until Dean’s hips are tilted up and he’s open to Sam’s eyes.  
  
Before Dean can protest, Sam fills him with two fingers, lodges them in deep until Dean’s glossy red rim is held taut around the mounts of his knuckles. Dean’s inner muscles contract and flutter at the intrusion and he chokes, balls his hands into fists and shoves into the fullness.  
  
"Good," Sam says mindlessly, turning his fingers around inside his brother, vertical then horizontal, swallowing as he watches Dean dig his head back into the pillow, showing neck. Sam pulls his fingers out nearly all the way, then feeds them back in and gets a soft cry out of Dean.  
  
Sam’s barely started fingerfucking him when Dean starts writhing on the mattress, face screwed up and tears leaking past his eyelids. “What’s wrong, D—”  
  
"More!" Dean sobs, his hands pulling the sheets out from under the bed. Dean shoves into Sam’s fingers and makes a pained noise. "More, please, fuck, _please_ —”  
  
"Okay," Sam says quickly, adding his ring finger and digging in deep.  
  
He gets frustrated with himself when Dean just starts trying to curl up, whimpering and shaking his head. “‘s not ‘nough, ‘s not ‘nough, Christ, Sammy please it hurts, make it stop, I’m fuckin’, I’m fuckin’ burning oh _God_.”  
  
"Dean," Sam says helplessly, fitting in his pinkie because maybe that’ll help but Dean just sobs and twists harshly, sprawling on his stomach. Only half of him is on the bed and he’s sliding off further, so Sam moves forward and grabs him and hauls him back.  
  
Everything goes sideways then. Sam, realizing he’s draped over Dean’s back, goes to move but Dean scrunches up and shoves his ass into Sam’s crotch with an “oh please, Sam, Alpha, need it,” in the most spacey tone Sam’s ever heard from him.  
  
"Not thinking right Dean," Sam grunts, but he can’t move himself off Dean. It’s like he’s locked in place and his inner Alpha is going nuts with prime bitch under him and his sweetscent all around him.  
  
"Knot," Dean keens into the bed, pressing back insistently. "Need a knot."  
  
"No you don’t," Sam gets out, his voice on stilts. "Look, Dean, just roll over and I’ll find something to—"  
  
Dean sobs and hiccups and starts trembling under Sam, starts fucking _crying_ softly and Sam sighs and presses his face into Dean’s skin with the knowledge he’s made this so much worse.  
  
"Go away," Dean rasps after a few moments, sounding more like himself, "please just go away."  
  
Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says into Dean’s shoulder.  
  
Dean pounds a fist into the bed. “Goddamit, goddamn you suh—Sammy, can’t help me. Leave me alone, leave me alone, God.” Dean rolls his face into the bed, body quaking with sobs again. “Hate this,” he groans, long and wounded.  
  
"Stay there," Sam whispers, and lifts off Dean’s back. He reaches into his rear pocket for his wallet, fingers heavy and numb and moving too quick. Library cards, quarters and his driver’s license land on the bed in his haste to find what’s been tucked into the smallest fold the past year. Been useless and made Sam feel hopeful yet guilty until now, now he’s just happy it’s there.  
  
Sam rips the condom’s foil with his teeth and holds the latex between his fingers while he thumbs out the button of his jeans and tugs the zipper down.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Be quiet Dean, ‘s all right." Sam rolls the condom down his cock, to the base, where the band snaps tight to hold his knot when it swells. "Gonna help you," he says, scoops up Dean’s hips and hauls them back a bit, shuffles forward until his cockhead is pressing into Dean’s taint.  
  
Dean sniffs, turning his face. He seems to realize what’s about to happen then because he lets out a needy sigh and his back drops even lower. Sam strokes his sides reassuringly and guides himself in, a bunch of inches all at once disappearing in Dean’s hole. Sam stops, hissing and shaking and hot from the inside out. It’s nothing like the fleshlight. It’s real and it’s warm and it’s Dean. “Oh my God,” he says, “oh my God _Dean_.”  
  
He lets himself get sucked in to the base, and his eyes are wide and his vision’s smearing and the last vertebrae of his spine weaken and melt. He tips forward, hands planting on either side of his brother, mouth hanging open.  
  
"Move, now, please, oh fuck please!" Dean cries out, high in desperation, arms stretching above his head to pull and claw at the pillow, seams screeching apart.  
  
"Uh-huh," Sam replies dumbly, drawing his cock out and lunging back in again, and again and again. He thinks he’s somehow catapulted back into rut with the urgency in his blood, the need that spirals and sparks around his bones, that too much not enough insanity he can’t escape.  
  
Dean’s sobbing under him, restless and shoving back as best he can into the thrusts. Starts saying, “knot me, knot me,” and “Alpha, please,” and “nownownow,” and it doesn’t take long, for everything to coalesce at the base of Sam’s cock and explode out.  
  
Sam growls and plasters himself to Dean’s back, rings his arms around Dean’s waist and stabs inside in rhythmic jerks, chasing his knot. Soon as he has to slow and shorten his movements because his knot’s growing, Dean thrashes, growling, “yes, _yes_ , fuckin’ knot me _now_.”  
  
His hole contracts hard around Sam, squeezing like a big hot fist over and over as Dean finally comes with a guttural shout that makes Sam’s blood sing. Sam tucks himself close to Dean and loses it then, black encroaching on all his senses while pleasure wrings him into a snarling mess.  
  
When he’s half-aware again, he falls onto his side, bringing Dean with him, who’s trembling once more, body so hot it’s like hugging a lit flame.  
  
"Okay?" Sam asks, slipping his hand down Dean’s come splattered belly to his cock, which is stiff once more, getting stiffer.  
  
"Thank you," Dean husks, even though it’s not over and they both know it. "Sorry," he adds, and Sam opens his eyes.  
  
Sam shakes his head. “Said I was gonna help you, and I did. I _will_ , till it’s over.”  
  
Dean sighs. “Weren’t s’posed to see me like this—”  
  
Sam laughs softly, “Dean, it’s _all right_. It’s really all right. It’s all right to be in heat, it’s all right to need help when you are. Doesn’t make you _impure_ or something. I promise.”  
  
"You promise," Dean repeats, dubious.  
  
"Yeah, I do," Sam says into Dean’s nape, and presses his lips to his brother’s skin.


	7. Sam addicted to Dean's blood ABO

_**(abo, wincest, mpreg, demon blood addiction)** _  
  
****

 

 

It doesn’t take long to fall back into it. Sam’s always felt that surge under his skin, that itch in his teeth, where he’s wanted to embed his teeth into demon flesh only slightly less than sink the knife through their rib slats. It never went away, it won’t ever; the stained parts in his blood are still pumping through him. He was never _purified_ or any inch closer to normal since falling into the pit with gallons of the stuff inside him.

It doesn’t even take a month. Sam goes from being wary of Dean’s shifting green-black eyes and the shark split of his smile, to throwing himself into damnation as well, all over again. It’s a bridge he can’t stop jumping off of.

He’s fucking Dean again, _again_ , lighting up the on-light for their weird relationship over the years, the tremulous mates/not-mates thing. He’s smiling in the river’s current. And when he bites too hard into Dean’s shoulder one night, bites right through the skin and fucking _Shangri-La_ touches his lips and tongue, he moans and sucks at it without a thought. He doesn’t forget that Dean’s a demon (not ever) but Dean’s screwed. There’s hell or forever on the horizon. If Sam can’t be part of one he’s going to become part of the other.

Sam’s powers creep back. Slow, the way it was the first time; floating toothpaste, liquor, books into his hand. Right after he’s had Dean’s blood he can make Dean and himself float in the air above the bed a few moments, before gravity overtakes them and they fall into a mess of limbs and laughs.

When his teeth start staining, that’s when he can pull demons from their suits. When his eyes start pooling black, he can kill them. Dean says he looks better. Feels over his arms and chest and says Sam’s been eating his Wheaties, and Sam’s skin in the mirror doesn’t seem sick anymore. It’s vibrant with Dean’s blood.

It’s not like with Ruby, who’d let him go weeks without a fix, just to keep him dependent. With Dean he can have it every day, bite him or sometimes Dean cuts a thin strip in his forearm with the Blade which, watching him, makes Sam a little crazy and gone, makes him want to be inside Dean utterly, unzip his skin and fold it over himself.

Sam wonders what Dad would think if he could see them now. Dean, who was supposed to kill Sam years ago. Sam, who was supposed to keep trying to be normal despite Heaven and Hell’s armies both trying to rip his humanity out of him. Sam and Dean who saved the world, rolling around in the dark with their black eyes and backs turned to everything Dad taught them.

Sam knows Dean thinks about it too. Dean doesn’t like looking at himself in the mirror. He keeps his eyes green even when they’re just in the bunker. The only time Dean’s eyes flick black is during the nitty gritty of a hunt (like a great white, Dean asks when Sam mentions it, and Sam breathes yes, exactly like that, staring at the vicious grill of Dean’s toothy smile) or when Sam makes him come.

Dean still keeps tight control over himself. He still jokes and laughs and sucks Sam’s cock and screams _die, you fuck_! when him and Sam watch the Purple Wedding. He’s still, as far as Sam’s blood-high brain can sense, still Dean, his brother.

Cas says he isn’t. Cas tells him that Dean’s gone, and puts a pitying hand on Sam’s shoulder, and he looks at Sam’s rust-tinted teeth and asks would Dean let you do this? Sam tells him he doesn’t understand (he never did) and he tells Crowley to leave Dean the hell alone, he doesn’t want to be your pet.

They lose everyone. And it’s back to Sam, Dean, the bunker and Impala and the First Blade and lots of things to kill.

"We’ve come a long way Sam," Dean says, swiping at the corner of Sam’s lip and sucking his own blood off his thumb. A long way from the righteous, human path both tried to walk straight on, until it seems they walked straight to the lip and stepped over.

Sam’s proud of them too. He’s not stupid enough to think good shit like this lasts, but for now, he’s tightly bound to his brother and he’s proud that Dean’s his mate and he’s Dean’s and the new mark on the back of Dean’s neck proves that. The grooves of his teeth on either side of Dean’s spine.

Dean’s said before it doesn’t mean anything, said he doesn’t need another scar, especially one that broadcasts his dynamic. But when Sam finally decided that mark should be there, Dean let him set his teeth and dig them in and more precious blood had spilt and Sam had sucked at the bite until it clotted and sealed.

After the claiming bite, the next logical step comes along, and yeah, maybe Sam isn’t as stringent about condoms as he used to be, but he watched a foot of silver pierce Dean’s chest. Warm as he feels, good as he tastes, Dean’s body is supposed to be dead. Sam would’ve thought him getting pregnant would be impossible.

But Dean’s belly curves, subtle at first, and Sam thinks it’s maybe a little weight gain but how is Dean gaining weight when he doesn’t eat? And no, of course he isn’t.

"You’re pregnant," Sam tells him, fingertips on the firm swell, barest touch. What’s underneath? What species could amalgamate from both of them? What could grow in Dean’s hellgiven body without nutrition?

Dean looks down at his stomach and touches it too. “You knocked me up Sammy,” he says lightly. He’s probably known awhile, of course he has. “Took you long enough.” He circles his fingers around his stomach. “What kinda Pokémon did we catch?"

"I don’t wanna guess," Sam says, pulling his fingers away. He pictures a deformed, horrid little thing in Dean’s womb, charred skin and flamelit eyes. What the hell else could it be.

"Be like Rosemary’s Baby," Dean chuckles. “‘cept it won’t be that much of a surprise huh? It’ll probably have horns and claws and yellow eyes."

"Jesus, Dean."

He watches Dean’s fingers stop stroking. They ball into a fist instead and the Mark pulses bright. “You want me to get rid of it? Probably for the best. We don’t need another Damien.”

Sam shakes his head. “No. It’s ours.” He covers Dean’s belly, then swoops his hand up Dean’s ribcage and further, until he plants his hand beside Dean and leans over him. “Only kid I’m gonna get.”

Dean sucks air through his teeth and strokes his flanks. “Don’t know about that Sammy. What if you put a couple in me?” He cradles Sam’s hips and brings him down all the way, trapping their cocks together. Sam keeps his weight off Dean’s pregnant belly and kisses him.

Dean spreads his fingers for his blade, hikes a leg over Sam’s hips and rolls them over. There’s no effort there, like there used to be. Just Dean’s compact strength moving them around.

Sam watches Dean straddle his hips, the teeth Dean shows as he slowly hovers the knife over Sam’s chest and lets the blunt end fall into his sternum. Dean straightens his spine and opens his arms like wings. “It’s an open buffet.”

Sam picks the knife up off his chest. It pulls in his grip, as if it’s resisting his touch and trying to get back to Dean. He doesn’t get the rush Dean gets, the tunnel-vision focus, but the Blade feels sentient almost. Sam can understand why Dean loves it like he loves the Impala and his pearl-handled.

Sam tugs Dean forward with his mind, till Dean’s knees are in his armpits and Sam can pick out the individual shades of pink on his cock. “Maybe not that open,” Dean amends, thighs flexing. Sam stabilizes a hip with one hand and brings the knife up with the other.

Gooseflesh pours over Dean’s skin when Sam slides the teeth along one of Dean’s hipbones. Sam draws a thin red line through the groove, paints it up around Dean’s swollen stomach.

He catches Dean’s cock in his palm and squeezes, rolling up on his shoulder blades to bring his mouth to the glittering, smiling red.

He touches his tongue to the sweet blood and keeps on falling.

 


End file.
